


Helpless to Hopeless

by peterpan_in_neverland



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/pseuds/peterpan_in_neverland
Summary: The reader and Eliza fall in love. The problem-- not everyone is totally okay with it.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! :)

“You know, I am not going to enjoy this party,” you said, looking your father in the eye. You knew that you would never get it of attending, but it was worth a try.

“You rarely ever enjoy such things, Y/N. I’m well aware.”

“Does that mean-”

“No,” he said quickly, knowing what your next question would be. “It does _not_ mean that you can get out of this.”

“Father, I have never enjoyed such things, it’s always been a bother,” you pointed out. “Your political stance makes me the point of unwanted suitors, and it’s always-”

“Enough of this,” he snapped. “You are going to this party, and that is that, Y/N.”

“I-”

“Don’t,” he said. “I have to go, there’s a cabinet meeting within the hour.” He kissed your cheek, and left through the front door. You loved through father, but his job always put you in uncomfortable positions. He did not get along with Hamilton, and was always siding with Jefferson and Madison, which increased the tense atmosphere you were all too aware of. His disagreements with Hamilton always put you in an awkward position; Alexander was the only member of the cabinet that you could tolerate, and even hold a civil discussion with.

Elizabeth Schuyler, or Eiza, as she preferred, was the only saving grace. She was brilliant and witty, as well as exuberantly kind. Hopefully, she would be there to save you from this party.

* * *

“Y/N, please play nice with Thomas tonight,” you father said, as you approached Washington’s house, where the party was to be held. “I know you’ve never quite gotten along, but if you were to become closer-”

“I will try, father.” You didn’t need to hear your fathers many reasons as to why he would prefer you to get along with Jefferson. “I’m sure underneath all the hatred and bad qualities, there’s something redeeming.”

“Y/N-”

“I’m joking,” you said with a laugh, though truthfully, you were completely serious. “I’m sure he’s lovely.” That seemed to please your father, and he muttered something before walking you into the party.

“I’m going to speak with Mr Washington,” your father said. “Behave yourself.”

“Of course.” He walked away, and you turned, immediately spotting Alexander in conversation with a member of the cabinet that you didn’t know the name of. You looked more, and spotted Eliza with her sisters, immersed in conversations with the other two girls.

Angelica spotted you, waving you over. You gladly joined them, and joked the whole night, your mind for once being pulled away from the thoughts of politics and the insufferable people your father sided with. Soon enough, Angelica and Peggy had excused themselves from the conversation, leaving you and Eliza alone.

“Care to take a walk?” She suggested, tilting her head to the side. You nodded, and Eliza lead you outside.

“I practically grew up out here, playing with my sisters, causing mischief,” she reminisced, looking at the gardens and smiling.

“I spent time here, as well. That’s how I met you lot,” you added in, and laughed with her.

“Let me braid your hair,” Eliza suddenly suggested, and you nodded. You sat down on a bench, letting Eliza sit behind you and weave your hair into a braid. She picked some of the purple flowers growing by the bench, entwining them in your long hair.

“You’re done!” She exclaimed, and you reached back to feel the braid. Your hand collided with Eliza’s, and you turned around.

The setting sun framed her profile with golden and pink light, catching in her hair, making it look as though someone had found a way to freeze sunlight.

“Y/N, you’re staring.”

“So are you.” She _had_ been staring, and only in this moment did you notice the close proximity between you two. You were close enough to Eliza to count the freckles scattered on her nose and cheekbones.

“Just kiss me already,” she whispered, and you did, closing the space between you with a simple movement. You let your hands tangle into her silly hair, as hers tightened around your waist. Here you were, in the dark, properly kissing Eliza Schuyler outside of George Washington’s house.

Eliza broke away, exhaling excitedly. “That was nice,” she commented, pressing her forehead against yours.

“It was,” you agreed. “We can’t tell my father.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But maybe you can kiss me again, one last time?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

“Father, I’m home!” You announced. Since the party two weeks ago, you had been visiting the Schuyler estate nearly everyday, and Eliza had been sending you letters– love letters, to be exact.

“Father?” He hadn’t responded, and you mounted the stairs, climbing them cautiously. You pushed open the door to his study, and found it empty. With an escalating worry, you rushed to the door of your bedroom. It was unlikely that he was in there when you had vacated it, but it was the nearest door. You opened the door, finding him sitting at your desk, sorting through some papers.

Instantly, you stiffened. Those papers were the letters from Eliza. _Oh no._

“Y/N…” he began, standing up and grabbing a two of the papers in his hands. “What are these?”

“They’re letters. _Personal_ letters.”

“I realize that– but these are written as though by a lover,” he spat. “But they are from Elizabeth Schuyler.”

“I-”

“No, do not try to make up excuses,” he snapped. “You cannot be married to a woman.”

“Father-”

“Do you understand?”

“No, I-”

“Do. You. Understand?” He didn’t even make an attempt to disguise his contempt.

“Eliza is the ever-favourite object of my heart, and I-”

_“Enough!”_ He shouted. “I forbid you from _ever_ seeing her again!” In a singular movement, he ripped the letters in his hand in two, and you let out a shout of protest. You made for the letters still on the desk, but your father was bigger and faster. He seized the remaining letters, ripping them in half, and tossing them into the fire in the hearth.

“No!” You fell to your knees, but you stopped yourself from reaching into the flames. Instead, you watched them as they devoured the papers with Eliza’s words, as if you were hypnotized.

“This is ridiculous, Y/N,” you father said. “Get up.” You felt one of his hands wrap around your arm, and he pulled you to your feet.

“I never want to see or hear of you spending time with Elizabeth Schuyler, ever again,” he said, releasing your arm. “Understand?”

You nodded, almost automatically. You had been pulled out of your mind, and barely registered your father leaving and closing the door.

* * *

You spent the following week locked away in your room, staring at the ceiling. You let in only one person, your nursemaid, Tessa. Tessa had been the only one you had trusted to tell of the letters, and you know in your heart of hearts that she had not told your father.

“Y/N, my dear, you must get up,” you heard Tessa say, but processed none of her words. “Your father has asked me to make it known that you are required to make an appearance at a party hosted by George Washington tonight, dear.” You groaned, passing a hand over your face. As much as you wished to remain in bed, you knew that the only way to possibly gain back your father’s trust was through doing what he asked of you.

You dressed in the gown Tessa had chosen for you, and begrudgingly agreed to accompany your father to the party. You had conversations sparingly, and spent most of your time searching in vain for Eliza. Finally, your father approached you again. “Y/N, I’d like you to talk with Mr Jefferson,” he said, pulling you in the direction of the man.

“Y/N, what a pleasure it is.” He took your hand, kissing you knuckles.

“Indeed,” you said stiffly, pulling your hand from his grasp at the first opportunity. You still had a small hope that Eliza would show up, but as you looked around the room, the hope thinned.

“I would hope that you two shall be able to get along, especially considering your situation,” your father interjected, a slight blush staining his cheeks.

“Our… situation?” You hesitantly asked, gripping your skirt in your hands.

“Ah, I had forgot to make notice of it beforehand,” you father admitted, clasping his hands together. “Mr Jefferson and I have worked out an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement would that be?” You asked, a fear blossoming in your chest that nearly overtook the hope.

“I have arranged for you to marry Mr Jefferson, in wake of everything that had happened recently.” You felt as though you could pass out, and his words hit you like punches. The hope in your chest fizzled out, and you took a deep breath, saying nothing for fear of opening your mouth and screaming.

For you and Eliza, the beginning of the end came too quickly.


	2. There's No Hope For Us Now

Finally, you found your voice. “I- what?” You muttered, dropping your skirts from your hands. You chose to dig your fingernails into your palms, the pain clearing your head. You knew that if you weren’t careful, you could split small half circles into your palm.

“May I speak with my daughter? Alone?” You balked. The question was already a view of your future-- asking permission to drag you away from this man. 

“Of course,” Thomas granted, and your father pulled you away. 

“Y/N, I'm making a choice for your benefit-”

“It would not benefit me to be married to this-- this  _ man _ !” You exclaimed. 

“You have given me no choice. You will be married to Mr Jefferson, and you will not complain.” 

“You cannot force me,” you said, confidence flooding you. Angelica had arrived-- Eliza was not with her, but Angelica had always been there for the both of you. “I am grown.” 

“You are still a child, and I am your father-- You will give me the respect I deserve, Y/N.” 

“You will get my respect once you earn it-- and you are far from earning it.” You stared at Angelica, hoping your eyes cast your desperate need for help to her well enough. 

“How  _ dare _ you speak to me in this way?” Your silent cry for help seemed to become known to Angelica. She began to hurry over, keeping her head down. “Are you listening to me?” Your father exclaimed, and your gaze snapped back to his eyes. 

“I-” 

“Y/N?” Angelica asked, standing beside you and your father. 

“Angelica, thank god someone who understands,” you said, turning to her gratefully. To your horror, she recoiled, and you pulled your hands back into your chest. 

“I'm not here for you,” she whispered, and took a series of small steps backwards, toward your father. “I love my sister more than anything in this life, and you are  _ not _ good for her.” Each of her words hit you like punches, knocking the air out of your lungs. “This time, I must side with your father, Y/N.” you looked her in the eye, desperately hoping for any chance that she was lying to you. You could find none. 

“I-” 

“Maybe Angelica can finally talk some sense into you,” your father said. He whispered something in Angelica's ear, before walking away to engage Thomas Jefferson in conversation again. 

“Come with me, Y/N,” Angelica said, wrapping a strong hand around your arm and pulling you outside. Once she felt as though she was a safe distance away from the ballroom, she let go of your arm. 

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing she said. “I know very little about what has happened, but what I  _ do _ know is that I had to agree with him if we were to get anywhere-” 

“Angelica, don't-” 

“No, listen.” She put a finger to her lips, indicating that you should be quiet. “I said it earlier-- I love my sister more than anything in this life. And I would choose her happiness over mine.  _ Every. Time, _ ” Angelica said, her eyes glittering. “Right now, she is not happy.” 

“And you know my father is the cause of that?” 

She nodded. “I also know that I have never seen her happier in her life than she was these past couple of weeks. And I know it was because of you, Y/N.” 

“What has Mr Schuyler done about this?” You were half-afraid to ask, but you knew it needed to be said. You tightened your lips, already fearing the reply. 

Angelica's jaw clenched. She was silent for several moments. “Eliza has not been allowed to leave the house. She has been locked away in her room, Peggy and I have been the only ones visiting her.” 

You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself and gripping at your shoulderblades. You wanted so badly to drift away, be anywhere else but here. 

“Y/N?” Angelica's voice broke you out of your mind. 

“What do we do now?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper. Angelica was quiet, and her silence made you want to open your eyes even less. 

“Hope,” she finally said, and you wanted to laugh at the sound of the word. 

\--- 

Angelica lead you back inside, instructing you that the only way to get anywhere was to stay quiet and accept the criticism and orders. You argued with her, until finally you gave in, knowing that your only chance to see Eliza would lie in gaining the trust of your father back. 

You spotted your father with Thomas Jefferson across the ballroom, and you began to approach them before Angelica grabbed you by your elbow, pulling you back. 

“I meant to give you this. Eliza wrote it.” You grabbed the letter from her hand, tucking it into your dress. 

“Thank you, Angelica.” You turned away from her, tossing your head back and taking a deep breath. Finally, you began to approach your father and Jefferson, resisting the urge to gnaw on your bottom lip.

“Ah, Y/N, my dearest.” Thomas took your hand, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. You allowed him to grasp your hand until he decided to drop it. Your fingernails found the small, curved lines that had been left in your palm earlier, from the same action. You let your nails dig into the same spots, the pain anchoring you.

“Did Angelica manage to talk some sense into you?” Your father questioned. 

“Yes,” You started, and licked your lips. “I-I do believe that, with time, I could come to be happy with Mr Jefferson.” You blatantly avoided saying the word  _ love _ . The one and only person you loved in the world was lost to you. 

Your father smiled at you, the first genuine smile you had seen him wearing since before he discovered the letters in your room.  _ Wait _ , You thought.  _ How did he know the letters were there _ ? 

You father never invaded your bedroom-- he had long held the belief that every person deserves their own space to truly be them. Your bedroom was that space, and your father  _ never _ would have invaded that.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Thomas asked, and you turned to him. You opened your mouth, then closed it again. 

“I-I think,” you broke off. “I think that I need a moment.” You turned, hurrying away from your father. You had begun to feel as though the ceiling and walls were closing in on you-- crushing you, trapping you,  _ suffocating you _ . 

You pushed open a door, and you were instantly met with the sky. You exhaled. The sky would not crush you. There were no walls in the scenery. 

The sun was beginning to set. Dark streaks of purple painted the sky, giving way to deep reds that dazzled the water, making it shift and blend with the deep blue that was unique to its waves. The sky was faded blue, almost a transparent gray, that made you feel as though you could reach through the sky itself and emerge on the other side with the girl that you loved. Safe and away from anyone that could hurt you or her. 

But you could not do that, and if you turned around, you would be faced with the door that lead back into the house. A house where your unwanted fiancé waited for you, with your father who couldn't love you and Eliza together. 

You felt sick all over again, and all you wanted to do was return home and reject the world around you for as long as you could. You gathered your courage, remembering the letter tucked into your dress, and tried your best to ignore your growing nausea. 

You pushed the door open, and located your father again. He was still with Jefferson, and the nausea roared. You had to get out of here without emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath, hoping you were out of sight enough. 

You weren't. 

“Y/N, me dearest, are you alright?” You heard Jefferson's voice rise up in your mind. You let Angelica's words drown him out. You knew you would have to reply, so you managed a vague nod and a muttered excuse, before shoving past him. 

You grabbed at your fathers hand. “May we leave? I've begun to feel quite ill.” Your father looked at you-- your pale face, your slightly shaking frame-- and nodded. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders protectively, as if he could guard you from your own sickness. 

He muttered a quick goodbye to George Washington, and you heard him wish you well, before you were rushed out of his home. You didn't like the feelings of your fathers hands on your, even if they were protectively holding you in the way he always had. It did not erase the fact that those hands were used to rip up letters addressed to your, to throw them in a fire. As though they were worthless. 

You did not realize that you had been walking until your father muttered something about almost being home. You nodded, not trusting your mouth. You were afraid that opening your mouth would mean screaming of sobbing or being sick. 

You arrived home, and was instantly met by a worried looking Tessa. “Poor girl, I'll take care of her,” she whispered to your father, before taking you by the arm gently and leading you upstairs to your room. She helped you undress and dress again in a nightgown, and gently brushed your hair. 

“I'll bring you something for your nausea,” Tessa told you, before hurrying off. You still felt lightheaded, and slightly sick-- as though you are actually beginning to acquire an illness, and not as though it was a response to your panic. 

Suddenly, you remembered the letter. You rushed to where you had undressed, and found it lying on the hard wooden floor.  _ Thank god _ , you thought, before grabbing for it. You thought about opening it right away, but decided against it. You would need a better place to hide it than in your desk. 

Tessa came back with tea, explaining that it was meant to help with nausea, and that she would scold you if you hadn't drank some of it come morning. You laughed, and sent her away. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. It’d be best to hide that letter from your father.” Her eyes flashed knowingly, and you smiled. Of course Tessa would know, there was hardly a going-on in this house that she missed. 

“Thank you, Tessa. Sleep well.” 

“You too, dear,” she said, before closing your door. You listened to her receding footsteps, before taking a sip of her tea. You didn't like the taste-- almost as though someone had dumped spices onto fruit-- but you took another sip anyway. You set the cup back down, and looked at the letter in your other hand. You turned it around, taking in every detail of the envelope. The script that read your name-- just your name, nothing else. You smiled. Of  _ course _ Eliza would leave just your name, and the very Eliza-ness of the gesture made you want to laugh aloud. 

Carefully, you opened the envelope, and removed the letter. 

It was very long, just a page, but Eliza has written it. That made it as precious as gold, if not more. You unfolded it, hands shaking, and scanned the words. 

_ I do not have much time to write, but this needs to be done anyway. I do not know if Angelica will tell you what my fate has become when she sees you next, but I will tell you here anyway. My father found out through yours. I have been locked away in my bedroom, and have only talked to my sisters in the time since he has found out. Angelica brings my meals to me everyday. In fact, she even snuck this paper and quill to me, as father took it all away. The point of this, is not to sadden you, it is to tell you of what my sisters and I have been discussing. We have been going over the possibilities of sneaking me out of the house while father is away, which will be another three weeks from the day you receive this letter. To get to the point, my love. I wish for you to run away with me. I know it is not an easy thing to contemplate, but please consider it. _

_ All my love goes to you, _

_ Eliza  _

You wanted to cry. Of course you would run away from her, but how? You didn't know. 

You finally settled on hiding the letter beneath your mattress before settling onto it. You drank the remainder of Tessa's tea, which was now cold, before closing your eyes and falling asleep almost immediately. 

\---

You woke up the next morning with a start. The sun was just beginning to rise, and if you were to guess, then breakfast would be ready in the next hour. You exhaled, and then smiled, remembering Eliza's letter. Today you would contemplate how best to run away with her. 

Tessa helped you dress after taking away the cup that had held your tea, and you hurried down to breakfast. 

“Well, good morning Y/N,” your father said, smiling. “What's got you so happy this morning?” 

“Just a good dream,” you answered, then suddenly a thought crossed your mind. “Father, when am I to be married?” 

“Oh, yes,” he set down his fork. “Two weeks and six days.” 

You nodded, before realization gripped you. That was the day you were to run away with Eliza-- how would you run if you were to be married? Surely your father would be watching your every move. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Your father asked. You must have looked as terrible as you suddenly felt. The world was almost spinning, your stomach turning, your heart aching. 

“I-I'm suddenly not feeling too well,” you managed. “I believe I may be developing an illness.” 

“I think you better rest, darling.” He called for Tessa, who escorted you back to your room. Once you were alone, only one thought was able to cross your mind. 

_There's_ _no hope for us now_.


	3. Hopeless Does Not Equal Happy (SAD ENDING)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am providing alternate endings to this story-- this is the sad one. Enjoy!

You woke up the next morning running a fever, nausea and a pounding headache your ever-present company. But, that wasn't your only company. 

Your father had taken it upon himself to alert Jefferson of your illness. For whatever reason, he had hurried to your side at once. He had not left you since, despite your endless requests to be alone. 

Being trapped in your room with him did not make you any more affectionate towards him than you had in the time you had known him before. You found him to be rude and tasteless. Your very personalities clashed in an ugly war that was not winnable to either side. 

\--- 

Your were on your third day of sickness, and had been sleeping for countless hours now. Voices broke you out of your dreams, and you shifted slightly. 

You almost immediately noticed the tone the voices had taken, and decided that feigning sleep would be the best option. You continued your breathing pattern that marked a slumber, but let your eyes slit open very slightly. 

Jefferson and your father seemed deep in conversation. “Thomas, I do not know about this marriage-” 

“You know what you promised me.” 

“Yes, but,” your father took a cursory glance to you, and you saw his face soften. “She fell ill immediately after the announcement- Tessa is concerned that it is stress related.” 

“Tessa is an old hag that would do anything to protect this-- this foolish girl,” you heard Thomas growl, and you wanted to grind your teeth. How  _ dare  _ he speak of Tessa that way? “You remember our deal. I gave to you the news, and in return I am given your daughter. She will be my wife, and from there I may do what I wish with her.” 

“Thomas-” 

“You know what you promised to me,” Thomas said, and you saw him grab your fathers sleeve, bunching the material in his fist warningly. “You know the payment. You  _ agreed _ .” 

Your father hung his head. “I know, Thomas. I will not speak on it again.” 

“You should leave. Y/N will be fine with me.” Thomas released your fathers sleeve, and he nodded slightly before stepping quietly out of the room, and shutting your door with a gentle click. 

Thomas turned to you, and you fluttered your eyelids before letting them fall shut. He made a soft clicking noise, and came to your side, sitting down and running a hand over your hair. It took every ounce of effort in your body to refrain from pulling away from him.

“My dearest girl, soon you will be mine. And mine  _ only _ .” The tone in his voice made you want to shudder, but you only rolled over. 

You sorted through everything you had heard in your mind. It seemed that Jefferson had something to hold against your father, and as wrong as it was, it almost relaxed you to know that your father was not in complete agreeance with this marriage. But then you would remember the reason why, and a horrified feeling would reemerge, raising sirens throughout your mind. 

You had never been a sneaky person-- you disliked betraying your father's trust-- but sometimes, it had to be done. 

\--- 

You were back on your feet the day after you heard the argument. Your father had declined your requests to postpone the wedding, and you had decided on giving him the cold shoulder. 

You snooped around the house-- listening in on conversations, sorting through the mail before your father got the chance. You knew it was risky, but you had to find evidence that Jefferson was up to something. You had to  _ prove _ it. 

It was a week before the wedding when your father announced that you would be visiting Jefferson's estate to become familiarized with it before you were to move in after the wedding. 

A thought popped into your mind before the day before you were to leave, and you fetch your cloak. “I'm going for a walk, father!” You shouted, and heard his reply about not taking too long. 

You hurried down the streets, keeping your head down and studying your shoes, before spotting the address you were looking for. You mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door. 

A tired looking Alexander opened it. “Y/N? What can I help you with?” 

“I need you to provide a distraction…” 

\--- 

You and Alexander hashed out a plan over the following days, and for once, you were looking forward to being around Jefferson. 

Jefferson arrived bright and early on the day he was to give you the tour, picking you up in one of his carriages, and you spent the ride in almost complete silence. Thomas’s company was not one that you were able to enjoy in any form, and you wanted to arrive at his estate as soon as you could in order for the plan to be put into place. 

He helped you out of the carriage, and put a hand on the small of your back, guiding you around the grounds, before leading you into the house. He showed you throughout the parlor and a music room, as well as a tea room. 

He lead you upstairs, and was showing you around when a loud crash was heard. 

“What in the world-” 

“ _ Thomas Jefferson is a huge dick _ !” You heard Alexander's voice echo, and you held back laughter. 

“ _ BUT HIS IS TINY _ !” A deeper voice yelled in reply, and Jefferson's face turned a distant deep red. You covered your mouth, and Jefferson stormed off just as you heard the sound of pots beginning banged together. 

Once Jefferson was safely out of sight, you shook with laughter. You knew Alexander and the boys would provide a good distraction, but you were not expecting that. Although, you didn’t doubt it. 

You snapped back to working on the task at hand. You searched the upper floor until you located Jefferson's study, and you flew to his desk. You sorted through the papers, snatching anything that was signed by your father. You tucked them into your dress, and hurried from the room just as you heard a loud crash, followed by a masculine yell. You hurried down the stairs, and followed the shouts to a spacious backyard. 

Jefferson was trying-- and failing-- to catch Alexander, who was banging pots above his head and shouting nonsense.

“Alexander!” You shouted, and he stopped, his pots poised in the air. “Put those down, and get off the property of my betrothed!” The words disgusted you, but you had to convince Jefferson that you were on his side. You sent a quick wink to Alexander, who dropped the pots and ran. You heard more footsteps join him, and you could imagine Hercules, Lafayette and John running away with him. 

“Thank you for that, my dearest.” Thomas approached you, dropping a kiss on your lips. You resisted the screaming voices in your mind that told you to pull away from him, and instead let him pull away after a handful of seconds-- which, in your opinion, was a handful too long. You felt sick again, but knew that he would want to finish the remainder of your tour. 

“Shall we?” He reached a hand out to you, and you bit your lip before nodding a minuscule degree and taking it. He lead you around the house, pointing things out, his thumb constantly tracing a circle on the back of your hand. 

You hated it. 

\--- 

The moment you arrived home, you closed yourself in your room and poured over the papers you took from his study. They indicated some sort of deal between your father and himself, but there was no way to know without your Jefferson's letters to your father. 

Your father was out, Tessa told you when you arrived. You could do it. All you had to do was open the door to his study and find his desk and search through it. It still felt daunting. As much as you hated your father for putting you in the place you were in, your long-held lessons learned did not want to leave you. 

Nevertheless, you gathered your wits and got up from your desk in your room. You walked across the hall, and pushed open the door to your fathers room. 

You had been in there before, but never without your father. Bookcases lined two of the walls, and were piled heavy with books that overflowed. His desk was pushed into one corner, papers and quills sitting atop the shelves. A chair, stuffed to be cushiony and soft, sat in the corner, waiting for someone to sit in it to read. 

You took a deep breath, and walked to his desk. You pulled open his drawers, repeating your methods with Jeffersons. Everything that had Jefferson's signature on it was grabbed, hidden inside your dress. Once you were satisfied, you made sure every drawer was closed and you exited the room, closing the door softly behind you. 

You arrived back in your own room, and you studied the letters. You found what you believed to be the very first one, and studied it. 

_ This would not and will not be the easiest topic to discuss, however, I feel as though I must bring it to your attention. I suggest that you study the matter with your utmost concern, as at the middle of this situation, your daughter stands in the spotlight. _

_ I have had reason to believe that she has began an affair of sorts. Now, this may not be a problem if her partner were a man, married or not. Alas, her partner is a woman, one of a wealthy family. Elizabeth Schuyler is a lovely girl that should be able to seduce any man she wishes, but instead she has gone after your sweet, innocent daughter. _

_ I believe that Ms Schuyler may have wooed your daughter, by way in which I have no knowledge of, but I have seen them interact in ways that only star crossed lovers do. Something of a Romeo and Juliet romance. _

_ Now, you do know what this would mean for your family name. And, as such, I have a proposition for you. Allow me to marry your daughter, Y/N, and this matter shall stay between your family, the Schuyler's, and myself. No one need know. _

_ I encourage you to think it over _

_ Thomas Jefferson _

You wanted to be sick. So  _ this  _ was how he came to be your fiancé. You were going to confront them, and you were not marrying Jefferson. Not under any circumstances. You had been able to see just how manipulative he truly was, and there would never be a chance to be happy with him. 

You did not even realize that you were speaking out loud until your heard Tessa. “Miss, please do not confront them!” She suddenly cried, and you turned to face her. 

“Tessa?” 

“Do you know the danger you could be in if you were to attempt to confront them?” She asked, taking your hands in her calloused ones. Truth be told, it had never even crossed your mind. You were not concerned for yourself, either. You would be with Eliza, or you would gladly die trying. “Please, wait a while. Consider it before doing anything rash. And, if you decide that you must confront them, think it through. It is best to go in with a plan than without.” 

You took a deep breath, before nodding your head. “I know,” you said, and Tessa smiled. “Thank you, darling Tessa. You have always been better to me than what I deserved.” 

“Nonsense!” She said. “You didnt get to meet your mother, so I figured you deserved someone that would treat you like your mother would have.” 

“What was Mom like?” You asked. You always received the same reply whenever you asked Tessa, but you always liked to ask. 

“I'll tell you another day, dear. I have work to do.” She pat your hand, and hurried out of the room. You were expecting that reply, and you were never upset by it. You knew Tessa's reasoning for it-- she wanted your father to be the one to shape your mother in your mind for you. Whenever you pried hard, Tessa would say the same thing. That she was a wonderful woman with eyes the sparkled. That she was fiercely intelligent, loved you beyond anything she had ever loved, and would be so proud to see you now. 

Somehow, you always believed it. 

\---

The days before the wedding were soaked up too quickly. You knew that Eliza was planning to run away today-- you also knew that she could do it. The one thing that kept you going was the fierce wish for Eliza to make it out of that house safe and sound. 

Tessa helped you prepare for your wedding-- dressing, doing your hair, and trying to calm you down. Although, she was not calming you for wedding jitters, because you were not a bride that was looking forward to your wedding. You had decided that now would be the only time to confront your father-- it was your last chance, and you had waited long enough. 

Tessa had left you alone for awhile to take some deep breaths and think without another person clouding your space. You had been sitting at your mirror, studying your reflection, when you heard your door open. You turned around, expecting to see Tessa or your father. But instead, Eliza stood in your doorway. Her hair was messy and her dress torn in places, but it was Eliza and it was Eliza and itwasElizaitwas _ Eliza _ . 

She closed your door, and you flew to her, pulling her into a tight hug. You finally pulled away, taking her face in your hands and studying it. Dirt was smudged on her face, and she had a small cut on her cheek. Her eyes are glittering with tears, and some had already made straight tracks down her cheeks. You wiped them away, smearing the dirt around her face in the process. 

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you whispered, still studying her face, as if she would disappear the moment you looked away. 

“As did I.” She put a hand over yours, and smiled. 

“Why're you here, Eliza? You should be getting as far away from here as you can, it's not safe here for you!” 

“I had to see you once before I go,” she admitted. “I know it to be foolish, but I love you-- more than anything. I couldn't live any longer with seeing you one last time.” 

“‘Liza,” you whispered. You leaned in, pressing your lips to hers and letting one of your hands slide into her hair. Kissing Eliza again made you feel as though you had been brought back into the sunlight and fresh air after being without it for weeks. 

Suddenly, the door flew open, and you jumped apart from Eliza. Your father and Jefferson stood framed in the doorway, and you whitened, feeling fear grip onto your heart with its cold hands. 

Jefferson marched forward, grabbing Eliza by the arm and jerking her backwards. She fell, reaching out blindly behind her in an attempt to soften her fall. 

“How  _ dare  _ you show your face here!” Jefferson growled, and it was less of a question than it was a statement. Suddenly, his full body jerked, and he landed a kick on her side. She cried out, screaming, and you felt yourself shout out nonsense.

“That is no way to treat a woman!” Your father yelled, grabbing hold of Jefferson's arm. 

“That is no way to treat a person! Woman, or not!” You heard yourself reply, without realizing you had said a word or even opened your mouth. A terror gripped you, chilling your bones and body, as Jefferson jerked his arm out of your father's grip. 

“If when I return and this-- This  _ whore _ ,” he said, motioning to Eliza, “is not gone, then she will not leave this house alive.” Jefferson stalked from the room, and his footsteps clattered down the stairs. 

Your father scooped Eliza into his arms before you even had a chance to get a word out. You felt numb, stuck to the spot you were in. Everything had happened so quickly-- too quickly. Too quickly to defend yourself, too quickly to help Eliza, too quickly to run. 

\---

You learned from Tessa that your father had dropped Eliza into a carriage, and that she had been driven back to her father's home. From there, you could only guess what had happened to her, or if she was still alive. 

The wedding was to still go on, and you felt dread fill you the moment your father came to your room to tell you it was time. You had forgotten about confronting him, and you knew it was no use now. 

You let him escort you through the house and to the carriage, before arriving at a small church. Very few people were there, and you were glad of it. It would be less people to have a chance of breaking down in front of. 

Your father let your hand go in front of Jefferson, who took your hands in replacement. You tuned out the priest, and ignored Jefferson's presence. If he weren't clasping your hands, it would have been like he was not there at all. 

You heard the priest say your name, and you began to listen again. 

“... do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

You forced the words out, “I do.” And you stopped listening again. 

Suddenly, You were being pulled into a kiss, and you forced yourself to respond. After what seemed like an eternity, you broke apart, letting out a sigh of relief before panic seized you again. 

You were married. What would happened now? 

\---

It had not been easy. 

Jefferson was demanding. Every imperfection needed to be wiped away. Your dresses needed to be impeccable, and your posture perfect. Somehow, he eventually deemed you the perfect wife to show off, and dragged you along to a party with him, despite your protests. You had found out that you were with child nearly three months ago, and had  it wanted to go out since then. 

Nevertheless, Jefferson brought you along. You stood by while he boasted to his friends of his  _ perfect wife  _ and the  _ big strong boy  _ she would be having. Silently, in your mind, you reminded yourself that this baby could always be a girl. 

You spotted Peggy in a corner while Jefferson was deep in conversation. Politely, you excused yourself, and hurried over to Peggy. 

“Peggy, how are you?” 

“Oh, Y/N, I was hoping I would not see you here,” she said. You furrowed your brow. You had always been close with Peggy. 

“Why ever not?” 

She took a deep breath. Fidgeted. Sighed. Bit her lip. “I did not want you to ever have to know of this, but since you are here…” her face fell. “Father sent Eliza away on a ship to London. Before the ship could make it there, it sunk.” 

“W-what?” You stammered, feeling the beginnings of dread ebb into your mind. 

“Eliza is dead, Y/N,” Peggy said, and closed her eyes against the words. You were breathing heavily, your whole body cold. Words floated around in your mind.  _ Eliza. Sea. Ship. London. Dead. Dead, dead, deaddeaddead. _

“No, it can't be true,” you said, grabbing onto Peggy's arm. “Tell me it's not true, Peggy.” 

“I-I can't,” she whispered. You began crying, Peggy the only thing holding you upright as you sobbed into her arms. She began running a hand over your hair, shushing you quietly. 

Jefferson eventually found the both of you, and pulled you away from her. He yanked you out of the room, whispering under his breath. His grip on your arm was tight, and the pain of it only made you want to sob more. 

A sudden thought came to you, like sunlight on a cloudy day. Eliza would want you alive. She would want you to be brave and to be yourself. You steeled yourself with a new resolve, thinking it was all for Eliza. 

For Eliza, the end came too quickly. It would  _ not  _ for you. 


	4. Helpless to Hopeless and Back (HAPPY ENDING)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am providing alternate endings for this story-- this is the happy ending. Enjoy!

You really did end up developing a sickness. Tessa had been fussing over you for the entire time, and Jefferson had come to visit on occasion. 

You were woken up by your father and Jefferson, seemingly locked in an argument. They were leaning close to each other, their posture screaming of a disagreement. You caught snatches of words--  _ Owe me. News. Promise. Payment. Thomas. Tessa. Foolish girl. Wife. Deal. Marriage. _

You contemplated questioning them about it, but instead you rolled over. Jefferson stopped in the middle of his sentence, and you were certain they had both turned to look at you. 

“I think it to be best if we finish this conversation elsewhere,” you heard your father murmur. 

“I agree,” Jefferson replied, before someone walked out, closing the door. You heard footsteps approach your bed, and then the creak of a chair being pulled across the wood floor. 

“Are you asleep?” Your father asked, and you knew better than to answer him. You heard him sigh, the kind of deep and heavy sigh that told you he was thinking of something he would rather lock to the back of his mind. It made your heart ache. “You can't hear me, and you're ill, and I do not wish to burden you but-- I'm reconsidering this-- all of this. Thomas has shown me another side of him and-- I'm scared for you, Y/N.” He sighed again, and you held back your tears. He could not know you were awake. “But what choice do I have? I need to protect you, but everywhere I turn seems worse than any other path. I just- I wish your mother were still here.” You heard the chair scrape back, and rapid footsteps leaving your room. 

Your allowed tears to fall freely down your face, as you cried quietly. You never knew how badly your father struggled with his desire to protect you for as long as he could. You were nowhere near to forgiving your father for what he had done, but you needed a plan. You needed to be able to convince him to get you out of this marriage, to keep Jefferson away from you. 

You wiped at your cheeks and called for Tessa. She would know exactly how to help. 

\---

“How can I help you, dear?” Tessa asked, then her face crinkled. “Have you been crying?” 

“Yes, I- It is a long story, Tessa. Please, sit so I can talk.” She sat, and allowed you to explain all that had conspired. 

“Oh, Y/N, my dear. I am so sorry,” she said, putting her hands against her heart. “How can I help you, dear?” 

“Help me make a plan. Help me prove to father that Jefferson is not good for me, I just-- I need  _ evidence,  _ Tessa.” She looked at you, studying your face. 

“I will. How will we begin?” You wanted to cheer, but instead you thought for a moment. 

“You told me once before that you are able to listen in on conversations easily, yes?” 

“I did, and I am.” 

“I need you to listen to my father, whenever he speaks with Jefferson. Can you do it without being caught?” 

“Absolutely, dear. Anything else?” She asked. 

“Leave the rest to me, Tessa.” She nodded, and stood, preparing to leave. “Wait!” You suddenly cried, and she turned back around. “What- what was mom like?” 

You expected the usual reply from her, which was a polite  _ I'll tell you another day _ , but instead, she sat down. “Your mother-- where do I begin?” She was silent a moment. “I suppose I'll start here-- your mother was a very beautiful woman. Dark skin, thick hair, eyes that glowed with intelligence-- You look very much like her. People often underestimated her intelligence because of her beauty, which always landed them in arguments that could not be won. It was amazing to see her having conversations-- she always had a comment to give, a remark to make. It always amazed me.” 

“What else?” You asked, eager. Tessa had never told you this much about your mother before, and it fascinated you to hear it. 

“While she was pregnant with you, she read aloud often. She wanted her child to have a thirst for books and learning, boy or not. She refused to have a child that would not be educated,” Tessa laughed. “It seems that her plan worked out.” She motioned to the tall stack of books sitting atop your desk, and you smiled. You wondered how many of those had been held by your mother, the words read and considered. “She would be so proud of you now, the way you stand up for yourself and the way you think-- oh, she would be so very proud, dear.” 

“Oh, she also laughed often, and loudly. She always said that if she was feeling joyous, then people ought to hear it.” You smiled. As much as you wished you could have truly met your mother, this was also an experience you would never give up in this lifetime. 

“She was also incredibly kind, Y/N,” Tessa said, a serious looking taking over her features. “I do not know if your father ever told you this, but-- your mother was home alone one day, when a little girl came to the door. She was maybe, three, four at most. Her hair was tangled and her dress worn and dirty.” 

“Who-” 

“Hush, let me tell my story,” Tessa said, and you closed your mouth. “Your mother immediately swooped the girl up, keep in mind, it was December-- the dead of winter. It was cold and bitter out, it was amazing that the girl was not dreadfully ill. But, she brought the girl inside and had me prepare a bath for her. Your mother took care of the girl for months, before summer came around and she was sent to live with someone that could raise her to adulthood.” 

“Why didn't mom decide to raise her?” 

“She was still young at the time-- freshly married to your father. She wouldn't have you for another four years, dear.” Your mind immediately began to spin-- who was the girl? Was she still alive? How old was she now? 

“Her name is Esther, I could tell you were thinking it over. And no, I haven't a clue what became of her.” You suddenly, desperately wished that you knew of a last name for her. Someone else that knew your mother closely-- even if she was just a child at the time. You wanted badly to talk to her. “If I knew what became of her, I would tell you, dear. I'm sorry that I cannot.” 

“What else can you tell me?” You asked, and Tessa tightened her lips. 

“Follow me.” 

\---

Tessa lead you through the house, and finally, you stopped at a room your father never allowed you to go into. 

“What is this room, Tessa?” 

“You'll see dear.” She pulled a key from her pocket, and unlocked the door. It swung open, showing a rectangle of darkness. Tessa grabbed a candle, and lit it, handing it over to you. 

You stepped into the room. A thin layer of dust covered-- well, everything. You stuck the candle further into the room. Cloth was draped over all the furniture and covered stacks of  _ something _ . 

“Tessa, what is this?” You turned to look at her, and she made vague motions with her hands. You took that as a cue to walk further into the room, you took a few more steps, and stood before a  _ something  _ covered in heavy white cloth. 

You took a risk, reaching your hand out and grasping the cloth. Gently, you pulled it off-- and gasped. A wooden easel held up an obviously aged painting. It was simple-- a blue vase that held flowers of all shapes and sizes, painted in colours that once would have been bright, but now had faded. You wanted very badly to reach out and touch it, to run your fingers over the smooth-looking petals of roses, the carefully painted glass of the vase. 

You pulled your gaze away from the painting of the flowers, and turned to a stack of what you thought to be canvases, that were leaning against a wall. Each was wrapped in cloth. 

You set the candle down on a small table, and unwrapped the first canvas. It was a painting of a river-- it was unfinished, but was obviously a river nonetheless. You uncovered the next painting-- an outline for a portrait of someone, perhaps a family friend. The next was of flowers-- of the tulips that still grew outside of your home. You turned back to Tessa. You weren't able to ask your question, because Tessa was already answering it. 

“These are all your mothers. She loved to paint and draw. It was her favourite activity, aside from reading,” Tessa said, walking into the room to stand next to you. “She loved to paint flowers-- she always said that she was not good at people, but I strongly disagreed. I believe, if you look hard enough, you will find a portrait of Esther.” 

A renewed vigour filled you, and you turned to the next stack of canvases. Most of them were unfinished outlines of scenery and flowers, but you didn't tire. You searched the room, looking for a painting of a child-- but you found none. 

You finally settled on standing in the center of the room and pivoting. It gave you a full view of the room, and was the easiest way to search. You scanned the room over and over. Each stack had already been searched, each easel uncovered. Until, finally, it hit you. What you assumed to be a window (also covered by cloth) may not actually be a window. You walked to it, seized the cloth, and pulled. 

A portrait of a young girl was mounted on the wall. She had curly hair, her eyes green and her skin was barely darker than your own. She was wearing a green dress in the portrait, and she looked so startlingly real that you felt as though it was possible to reach out and touch her.  _ This was Esther _ . 

It only made you want to find her more. 

\---

“Why did father keep that room from me?” You asked the moment you stepped out of the dusty place. Tessa locked the door behind you, and blew out the candle before setting it down on a small cabinet in the hallway. 

“He did not want you to long for your mother anymore than you do now,” she answered plainly. “I always argued with him about it, but the man was too thick to listen to reason. Come, you must get back to bed before your father catches you.” She grabbed your arm and escorted you back to bed, making sure you were comfortable. 

“I shall learn what I can while you are recovering, dear,” Tessa said, before closing your door and leaving you alone. You were itching to go back to the room with your mother's paintings, but you knew better of it. Tessa would surely scold you if she caught you there, and you shuddered at the thought of what your father would say. 

Instead, you rolled over, and thought of the paintings you saw there. 

\--- 

You recovered fully in another two days, and in that time, Tessa had learned a lot. 

She had not been lying to you when she said that she was excellent at sneaking around. She relayed everything that she had discovered to you, and you knew you had enough to justify breaking into your father's study. 

He announced to you at breakfast a week and one half before the wedding that he was going to depart for the day and would not be returning until late at night, and you silently rejoiced. You waved him off, giving him the first hug you had given him in weeks, as a farewell. 

As soon as you saw the carriage turn out of your sight, you dashed back into the house. You hurried up the stairs, and rushed into your father's study. Suddenly, you stopped. You did not want to invade your fathers privacy, and this would be the very definition of invading his privacy. You reminded yourself of what could happen if you didn't at least try, and you pushed open the door after taking a deep breath. 

You started at the desk, sorting through books and papers. You pulled open drawer after drawer. All were filled with nonsense papers that had no meaning to you, before you got to the final drawer. You knew from experience that the final drawer had a false bottom, and cautiously, you opened it. It was filled with letters, each addressed to your father, each signed by Jefferson. You grabbed them, and closed the false bottom, then you closed all the other drawers you had opened. 

You rushed back to your room, and called for Tessa. She came immediately, closing the door. “What do you need, dear?” 

“I stole these letters from fathers study.” You motioned to the letters scattered around your bed. “Help me look over them.” Tessa looked apprehensive, but came forward, grabbing a few letters anyway. She sat in the chair in front of your fireplace, and began reading the first that she had grabbed. You looked over the rest. Each had mentions of you, of some sort of payment, of marriage and of Eliza. 

Tessa suddenly sat up straighter. “Listen to this,” she said, and began reading the letter aloud. 

“ _ You said in a previous letter that you do not wish for your daughter to be married to me, but you seem to forget the things I have knowledge of. Your daughters relationship with Ms Schuyler, for one.” _

_ “I did not wish to threaten this, but I see now that I have no choice. I will not hesitate to burn each and every one of the paintings that sit in the dark room in your home that you keep locked away from the eyes of every person but yourself.”  _

_ “Do not do something you will regret once the contents of that room have been turned to ashes.”  _

_ “What is more important to you? The last thing that remains of your beloved dead wife, or your whore of a daughter?”  _

Tessa stopped reading, and looked at you. Her eyes were wide open, her face pale, and she looked deeply startled. 

“So that is why,” you breathed out, and you understood. You understood why your father agreed to the engagement, and you would do the same thing. 

“My dear,” Tessa said, taking your hands in her own. “You must confront him. It is the only way.” You looked up at her, and nodded. This was the only choice. 

\---

You waited up for your father to arrive back home, anxiously chewing on the words you were about to say to him. 

Finally, the door opened, and your father walked in. He caught sight of you perched on the stairs, and stopped. “Y/N? It is late, you should be sleeping.” 

“I could not sleep, father. I-I learned a lot today.” 

“What do you-” 

“Just, come with me,” you begged. “Please?” He considered you for a moment, before nodding. You lead him to the door that gave entrance to the room of paintings, and your father furrowed his brow. 

“Y/N, you are not granted permission to go in here,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder. You did not let it deter you, and you reached out, twisting the handle on the door and pushing it open. You walked in, your father following behind you like a leaf caught in the current, almost against his will. 

“I understand why you never told me,” you said, standing in the middle of the room and looking around. “But I wish you had.” 

“I,” you father began, then stopped. He must have been shocked, seeing his daughter, that looked so much like her mother. His daughter that he tried so hard to protect standing in the middle of the room that was the most of his dead wife that had been left in the world. 

“And I know of Jefferson's threat,” you said, and your father chuckled. 

“You were busy while I was away, were you not?”

You laughed softly. “I was,” you admitted. “But, find someone that can keep the paintings safe for you. Please.” You laced your fingers together. “Jefferson has shown himself to be manipulative-- evil. You know I could not ever be happy with him. That I may not even be safe with him.” 

He was silent for such a long time that it made you worry.  _ What if he says no? What if he didn't want to part with the paintings? What if- _

“I will,” he said, nodding his head. “I know of someone- a family friend. But what will become of you?” 

“I have no plan yet, you must give me time.” He was silent again, before his eyes took on a considering nature. “Father?” 

“I know of someone, someone that can keep both you and Eliza safe,” he said. “But it will involve revealing more of your mother to you.” 

“Tell me, please.” 

“When your mother-- Hannah-- was twenty years old, she took in a young girl for many months. Her name was Esther. She was sent away in the end of summer, to live with a family that could raise her to adulthood, but I have kept contact with her for all these years.” 

“You have?” You gasped. Esther was  _ alive _ . 

“Yes, Y/N. She lives in Boston,  she is married and I believe she has a young daughter,” he admitted. “You and Eliza would be safe with her, I promise you that.” 

\---

You wrote to Esther, telling her who you were, of your mother, and of the situation you were in. The reply came days later. She would welcome you and Eliza into her home, writing the words that anyone should be able to feel safe and love who they wished to love. You packed sparingly, knowing that you had a long trip and little chance to truly escape from New York. 

Your father emptied out the room of paintings, sending them off to a friend of his that would keep them safe. There was only one painting remaining-- the portrait of Esther. You stood beside him as he removed it from the wall, and nearly jumped out of your skin when he turned to you. 

“Take this, give it to Esther,” he said, passing it into your hands. You grasped it, holding it to your chest. You would protect it with your life. 

You left early on the morning that you were to be married, and arrived at Eliza's home soon after. She came from the house quietly, Angelica and Peggy with her. 

“We will come visit you at every chance we get,” Peggy said, while giving Eliza a bone-chrushing hug. 

“And I shall murder anyone that hurts you-- or Y/N,” Angelica said, laughing. She gave Eliza a quick hug, and kissed her forehead. “Be safe, please.” 

You helped her into the carriage, and set off. The next time you would stop, you would be in Boston, and you were more than ready. 

\---

The carriage stopped outside of a house surrounded by green grass, with flowers growing outside of it. You took a deep breath. 

“It will be alright, love,” Eliza whispered, urging you forward. You finally stepped out of the carriage, and walked to the front door with Eliza. 

You knocked gently, and the door swung open. A woman stood in the doorway, her curls pinned up, her green eyes shining brightly. “Esther?” You asked, and she nodded. “I've-- Tessa and my father told me about you. About what my mother did for you.” 

She suddenly surged forward, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. You gladly sank into it, feeling that the woman holding onto you was real. She was alive. 

She moved on to hug Eliza, before pulling the both of you inside. She was talking, explaining where you would be sleeping in the house, when you were interrupted by a small cough. 

A little girl, wearing a blue dress, her feet bare and clinging to a stuffed rabbit was standing in the center of the hallway. Her hair fell in dark curls around her shoulders, and her eyes, so much alike to Esther's, glimmered with the innocence of childhood. She spoke up, “who’re these people, Mama?” She had a little voice that made you want to smile. 

“Ahh, this is my… sister,” Esther finally said, putting a hand on your arm. It felt completely right to be introduced as her sister. “Her name is Y/N.” 

“Hi!” The girl said, and Esther continued on with introductions.

“This is the girl my sister loves, Eliza,” Esther said, and her daughter smiled. “Do you want to introduce yourself, sweetie?” 

“I'm Hannah,” she said, smiling brightly. Your gaze flicked to Esther. Your mothers name on a girl that young felt foreign, but beautiful. 

“You named her after mom?” You asked, and Esther nodded. 

“Come with me, I'll give you a tour of the house,” Esther said, and scooped up Hannah. 

“I have a question for Miss Y/N,” Hannah spoke up, twisting around in her mothers arms. 

“Call me Y/N,” you said. “What's your question?” 

“Am  _ I _ gonna love a girl one day?” She asked, and you looked at Eliza. She shrugged slightly, and you looked back to Hannah and Esther. 

“Perhaps,” you finally said. “You might. But there's always a chance that you'll love a boy like your mother does.” Hannah seemed satisfied with your reply, and turned back around to face Esther, asking a question about lunch.

You turned to Eliza, and smiled. 

“You did good,” she whispered to you, before kissing your temple. You took Eliza's hand, and knew that everything would be okay now. 


End file.
